


Need More

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Dom Dean Winchester, Friends With Benefits, Gift Fic, M/M, Mild D/s content, Modern AU, Mostly Pwp, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill, Spanking, Sub Castiel, Top Dean, midnight booty calls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 20:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16353347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: It started with the midnight booty calls. But eventually they both need more.





	Need More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZarauthForsaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZarauthForsaken/gifts).



> This was a prompt from [Zarauthforsaken](http://zarauthforsaken.tumblr.com/)! I hope you like it!

The contact is always the same, has always been the same, will likely always be the same. Castiel's unique text alert sounds and like some Pavlovian response, Dean immediately yanks his phone off of the nightstand to check it.

_Come over_. It says. It always says. No please, no thank you, no asking if he's awake.

Dean throws the covers off, picks his jeans and flannel off of the floor, and puts them on in seconds. Castiel didn't have to ask. He certainly doesn't have to beg. Dean already knows it's inherent in the demand.

Even if it wasn't, Dean's drawn like a siren's call. His need for this is just as deep as Castiel's. The only difference is that he's learned to love these particular cravings. Most of the time they're the white noise of his life after having dealt with so many different kinds before. He's gone without money, dealt without food, struggled without a roof over his head. But with Castiel, it's a different burn. It's a pleasant fire deep in his bones. It's quenched every now and then, but never completely. He wouldn't know what to do if it was.

Never thought that he'd really need something like this so much. How was he even drawn to a rich asshole, anyway? It's still a mystery. Castiel had blown into the garage he worked at months ago bitching about his Tesla not working like it was a crime against humanity. Complaining even louder that there wasn't a dealership nearby so he was _obviously_ having to go with second best. And when he'd been introduced to Dean Winchester, head mechanic, he'd literally scoffed. How they'd fallen into bed together the first time... well, that's not a mystery because it wasn't the first time they'd fucked. The actual first time is still a question mark, though. But it had been in Dean's office, on Dean's desk, and it had been super freaking hot.

It just hadn't ever stopped as far as Dean can tell. He'd wanted more experiences, Castiel had asked for more, and now they're in pretty deep. Dean feels that way. There are other emotions bubbling up the longer that it goes on, but considering that he's not the feelings expert, he pushes them away in favor of living in the moment. It's fun and easy. He's not ready to mess any of it up.

So he palms his keys and gets on the road in the middle of the night under the threat of rain because Castiel Novak had texted him two single words that spoke volumes.

Castiel thankfully doesn't live far. It's a fifteen minute drive, shorter with the way that Dean drives, and even shorter than that considering no one in the suburbs goes out after ten. But he likes the drive. It makes him antsy without fail, every time. Giddy. He always takes the time to imagine what Castiel wants him to do.

Inevitably, he pulls from his personal favorites. Like rubbing his sensitive dick over Castiel's chapped lips before slowly filling his mouth. Jacking Castiel off until he's almost there and then pulling away to stretch him wide and fuck him until he comes screaming and untouched.

Castiel's receptive to him; incredibly so. He can't seem to get enough. Up until the moment he tells Dean to leave, of course. That could use some work, but Dean doesn't press. If he does, it might stop happening, and it's not his place to push for more when what they've already got is beyond his wildest imaginings. It's the best, most regular sex he's ever had, and that's including the times he had a steady significant other.

He's out of his car and running up Castiel's front porch before he overthinks the aftermath and makes himself soft. He'd managed to jitter himself half hard on the way over, and he'll need that. He always does with Castiel. Those texts don't leave time for slow and easy foreplay. Not that that's a problem. Half of the appeal is the rush.

Castiel slams the door open. He says nothing. He grabs Dean by the lapels and drags him inside without preamble. His mouth is hot and fierce on Dean's, drinking up every inch of him. And Dean takes it and takes it. Pulling back after a minute with a gasp, Castiel says, "you smell like engine grease."

"Was gonna shower in the morning," Dean drawls, dazed. "Long day."

"I like it better when you smell like you. You can use mine."

Dean arches an eyebrow. Pointedly looks down between their bodies where both of them are obviously hard through their jeans. "It's already late and I wanna have enough energy to fuck you."

"Please," Castiel says shortly.

Dean shifts back with a noisy sigh. "Fine. Ten minutes. But you gotta be naked and waiting when I'm done."

"That I can do."

Dean's off like a shot up the stairs, nearly stumbling on his feet. Castiel smiles slightly watching him, and actually a bit happy to have a moment to collect himself. Even just a little. He won't be able to do much - not with Dean _in his house_ \- but it's worth a shot.

He trails back up the stairs, unbuttoning his dress shirt on the way. It's been a shitty day. Shitty week. Month. Year. He's tried everything that he can think of to make it better. Yoga had been a good idea for a time. But after a while he couldn't empty his mind enough to really focus on the relaxation part. Meditation had been the same, though it's had the fringe benefit of making him last longer when Dean is torturing him with all the pleasure he can possibly stand.

It's the only bright spot in his godforsaken life, and that's saying a lot. Then again, whoever said that money can't buy happiness was really fucking right. It's a subtle damnation of his character that he can't back away from any of it. He's not sure that he wants to. What he _wants_ is to figure out how to have it all. He's sure that he can do some good in the world. He's just not sure how. How does he stop himself from drowning in expectations?

Maybe that's why he needs Dean so badly. He's honest, uncomplicated, uninhibited, living his life with his eyes wide open. His desires are straightforward and his demands of Castiel are clear. He never asks for more than he knows he can get. More than he expects that Castiel will give.

Castiel balls up his shirt and tosses it into the dry cleaning basket with his trousers. Seeing the other clothing items similarly crumbled, he realizes that it's Friday. It doesn't matter to him except for the fact that Dean is off on Saturday and Sunday. He feels slightly less bad for calling him over so late now. He sometimes forgets that there are people who are lucky enough to have normal schedules with time to enjoy their money. Their homes. Their hobbies.

Idly, Castiel glances around his spartan bedroom. He's never decorated. He's never home long enough to care.

"What are you doing?" a voice asks from over his shoulder.

Castiel turns on his heel. They're both naked, but for a second, Castiel forgets the real reason that Dean is here. It's not for friendly conversation. "I'm counting the windows in here," he says.

Dean arches an eyebrow. "There's three," he says without even looking.

"I'm not sure I've ever noticed," he admits.

Dean tosses his towel onto the baseboard of the bed, not caring that it irritates Castiel when he leaves a mess. "Do you really wanna waste time smelling the roses right now?"

Castiel smiles. Dean knows him too well. "Of course not." Even if he wants to. Even if he needs to. But he doesn't want to do anything without Dean right now.

Luckily, Dean seems to be of the same mind. He holds his arms open and Castiel walks right into them because that's where he needs to be at this very moment.

Dean pushes his hands into Castiel's hair, ruining the styling that's ruined itself after fourteen hour work day, and brings their lips together again. Castiel clings to Dean's forearms, sucking the breath from his lungs, greedily nipping at his lips just to see how swollen they'll get. His erection has flagged with his formerly melancholy thoughts, but redirecting his attention to everything that is Dean Winchester helps a great deal. For a moment.

Then Dean dips his head down to mouth at Castiel's neck, and Castiel gets a whiff of his own shampoo. His own sandalwood body wash. Its smells good, of course, but it's not what he's used to smelling on Dean. It's better than the engine grease and gasoline, but... off. Usually he can lose himself so easily in the moment because the little things don't change. Dean makes absolutely sure that they don't.

Dammit. Why had he changed the small things so abruptly?

"Hey," Dean says softly. "Hey, Cas."

It's so tender that Castiel can't help but pull back and stare into those brilliantly green eyes. "I'm sorry," he blurts.

Dean's devastatingly sexy grin lights up his whole face mischievously. "Shitty week, huh?"

Castiel hangs his head. "I apologize."

Dean grips Castiel's chin, pulling his head back up. "Don't bother. I can work with this. If you still want to." He gives Castiel a sudden shove, sending him toppling back to the bed. Castiel bounces up on the mattress, with a grunt and a tiny, excited laugh. This is exactly why it's a good idea to text Dean. He always knows what to do.

The need he holds under his skin is beyond his ability to even comprehend. "Can you make it hurt?" he asks breathlessly.

"Skin on skin," Dean agrees.

"As long as it's yours on mine," Castiel says with a smirk.

"Hey, I said I'd try anything once," Dean counters. "Hands and knees."

Their last foray into impact play hadn't been anything to write home about. Castiel had suggested it because it's the best damn thing he's ever felt, but Dean hadn't been so keen. All that spanking him had done was make him burst into laughter and call the whole experience off. Live and learn. More for Castiel, anyway.

He springs up, flipping over and holding himself up on hands and knees.

"I don't think I tell you this enough, but you look amazing this way," Dean says appreciatively. "Your ass is just..." he trails off with words in favor of actions. He grabs a rough handful, kneading just shy of painfully.

Castiel's breath hisses out between clenched teeth, hips jutting back slightly as his dick gives an interested twitch. The sudden, stinging slap to his right cheek makes him jerk. The next one and the next one start to make him properly hard again as his brain is finally able to let go of everything save for the exquisite burn left in the wake of Dean's hand. "That's good," he grates.

"You fucking bet it is," Dean quips. "God, you're getting red already." His short nails dig into the meat of Castiel's ass, not breaking the skin, but making the pain more exquisite. "More?"

"Please," Castiel moans.

Dean's hands are beautiful. Castiel's always thought so. Blunt, thick fingers, wide, calloused palms. The next hit is harder, resonating sharply in tune with Castiel's shout. His arms tremble violently, threatening to give out. But Dean's not done. He can't falter until Dean is done. "Tell me how good it feels," Dean demands.

"It's _incredible_ ," Castiel gasps.

The reward for his honesty is a slap to the right that is much louder, but not as painful since Dean has cupped his hand a little. Every nerve ending from the base of his spine to his balls tingles.

"Tell me how good it is when I fuck you," Dean growls.

With a choked off sob of lust, Castiel croaks, "it's the best feeling in the world."

"Better than this?" Two more quick slaps. Dean doesn't pull his hand back after the second one, kneading hard again instead

"Having you inside me is as close to Heaven as I'll get!" Castiel promises. Begs. Cries. It's so good. It's _everything_.

Dean rears back and both hands slap down on either cheek, then grab, holding on for dear life.

Castiel howls, body igniting with bliss. For a split second he's mortified that he'd actually come, but when his arms finally give out and he faceplants into the duvet, it's dry. He's fine. They can still go on. Yes. _Yes_.

"How clean are you?" Dean asks, sounding suddenly breathless.

"I was thorough," Castiel says in a single hiccupping breath. He wiggles around, raising himself up on his forearms and pushing his ass back up off the bed.

Dean's mouth immediately on his sensitive rim makes him shout. But the teasing kiss is gone a second later to be replaced with the briefly cold shock of tingling lube.

"You know something?" Dean says conversationally as he uses only the barest tip of his finger to spread it around. "There's not a single part of you that I don't find sexy as hell." Obviously he's collected himself again.

Castiel is grateful for that since there's no chance of him pulling himself back together until he gets what his body is screaming for.

Dean presses his tongue around the pucker, loosening the fluttering muscles until he can press the tip of a lubed finger past the resistance. His left hand splays out, stroking up the underside of Castiel's dick. The rough calluses feel like heaven on his extremely sensitive skin. His mouth continues the worship, Castiel doing his very best to remain still, but this is so much. Too much. He hopes it never stops. Dean's tongue is a wicked thing the way that it worships his body. It snakes around his prodding fingers, lapping and teasing. But no matter how talented it is, it's still just the precursor to better things.

He loves it when Dean wants to fuck him. It doesn't happen all that often with their limited time, but tonight Dean seems to be willing to let the clock tick over without worry. It's so inconceivably good. It's so inconceivably not enough. His breath shudders out of his lungs as Dean presses in another careful finger, spreading the lube, slicking him and loosening him.

"Faster," Castiel begs.

Dean slaps his ass again, the crack of it almost drowning out Castiel's moan. "We're not on your schedule right now," Dean reminds him.

Thank fuck for that. His schedule is the literal worst. "Don't stop!" Dean won't stop. He just needs the confirmation.

"Never," Dean promises, breath hot against Castiel's lower back. "Never gonna stop, Cas." He sounds breathless again, too. That's wonderful. That's perfect. That's unbelievable. Dean's fingers brush against his prostate, and Castiel sobs at the whisper of lightning up his spine. His head falls between his shoulders where he sees his cock bobbing hard and neglected between his legs, a drop of pearly pre-come dripping to the comforter. He hopes they ruin it. His life needs more disorder. Dean messes everything up. Castiel craves that.

"Let me move," he whispers, praying that Dean doesn't refuse him the one indulgence.

"Just don't touch yourself," Dean agrees.

He can definitely do that. He thrusts his hips back in short hard movements when Dean pushes his fingers in. It's filling, but less like a great meal, and more like eating something that won't fulfill the craving.

Dean is wicked about doing just barely enough to stimulate Castiel. He unerringly finds Castiel's prostate until he's writhing with lust, and then suddenly seeming to forget where it is entirely. It's infuriating. Sexy. He drinks up every drop of it.

The prep feels like it goes on forever, but then abruptly only feels like a second when Dean is removing his fingers. "You're ready."

Oh, is he ever. He's been ready and waiting for so long. For an hour. For a lifetime. He can't think about it or it makes too little sense and he already feels like he's going crazy.

He needs the better kind of crazy. The kind that's the split second of wondering if he can actually take Dean's cock. It never seems like he can. In fact, if Dean wasn't using it to fuck him, Castiel would probably be a little jealous of the size.

But it's so perfect for him. The blunt, uncut head pressing against his loosened rim before carefully adding pressure. More and more until Castiel is breached with a burning ache that thrills him. The tight grip on his thighs belies the careful process of Dean filling him.

"Fuck, you're amazing," Dean breathes. "Take it all, Cas. Tell me what it feels like."

Desperately, Castiel strokes himself twice, ramping up the pleasure higher, relaxing around Dean's cock further. "Feels wonderful. Full. Oh, God, I could do this forever. I can take it. Please, Dean. More!"

Inch by inch, Dean pushes inexorably in. They both hold their breath even though they're trying not to. Castiel sucks in air first, then Dean. It takes a long time, but Dean is an expert. He pulls out a little, adds more lube, moves in again. Short and shallow, a little deeper every time.

Once he's seated fully, Dean's forehead comes down right between Castiel's shoulder blades. "Shit, Cas," he sighs. "You're so tight. Hot. Never gets old."

No, indeed it does not. Dean's fingers slide up from Castiel's hip, brushing over his twitching cock, up and up to rest against his belly, pressing lightly. It's a signal for Castiel to keep breathing. Waiting. He does as best as he can. He won't get what he wants by rushing. Carefully, he shuffles his legs wider, practicing his deep breathing. His body adjusts in stages as the burn fades to sparkling pleasure.

"That's good," Dean whispers, enraptured. "That's really good, sweetheart. Tell me when."

Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. "Yes," Castiel gasps.

It's starts off so slow. Little more than a dirty grind. Dean rolls his hips in an undulating motion, ghosting against Castiel's prostate as he moves. It's almost gentle the care that he takes. Castiel appreciates it, but not for long. "More," he begs.

Dean snaps his hips forward, skin smacking against skin. Castiel grapples for the headboard, grabbing the wooden slats in a white knuckled grip. Dean intersperses wild thrusts with intense grinding rolls that launches stars behind Castiel's closed eyes. He could make it go on and on if he wanted it to, but Dean loses his mind just a little bit sometimes, too. His panted breaths hitch with each glorious thrust. His hands spread against Castiel's spine, hot and sweaty and shaking.

"I'm so close," Castiel promises.

Immediately, Dean reaches down and takes Castiel's aching dick in hand, jacking him in time to his movements.

Castiel feels his balls tighten, white hot pleasure ricocheting through his core, burning his veins, tingling in his scalp. His orgasm crashes over him, and he cries out, spilling into Dean's hand and ropes of come onto the comforter. It makes him deliriously happy.

Dean sighs in deliverance, hips slowing and then stopping. He's still rock hard inside Castiel.

Boneless, sated, overstimulated, Castiel grins languidly. "Dean," he murmurs.

"Can I finish?"

"In my mouth," he offers.

Dean shudders, carefully pulls out. The condom comes off with a quickness and is unceremoniously tossed into the bedside trash can.

Castiel slips onto his back, head on the pillows. He arches his neck and licks his lips. Seeing Dean hovering above him on the edge of ecstasy, flushed and sweating, undoes something in his chest. He wants...

He doesn't want to think about what he wants for the time being. He needs something else. He opens his arms. Dean straddles Castiel's thighs and scoots up the bed until his dick is level with Castiel's mouth. "You want it?"

Castiel tilts his head up and kisses the head of his cock. "Yes. Oh, yes."

"Damn right you do," Dean grins proudly. "Open up, sweetheart."

That endearment again. It sounds... good. Castiel's lips part, jaw loose. And Dean paints over his lips with his leaking cock before slowly thrusting in. Castiel flattens his tongue, relaxes his throat. Eagerly takes the mouthful that Dean so nicely gives him. He could do this for hours, though there's something extra special about waiting until Dean's already close. He barely has to do anything besides enjoy the silky sensation of Dean pushing his dick to the back of Castiel's throat and then painstakingly withdrawing before doing it all over again. Once they'd discovered that Castiel had no real gag reflex to speak of, this had become a favorite staple of their sex life.

Castiel's eyes slip closed as he revels in the motions, gently grasping Dean's hips just to help steady him. He's starting to shake with the effort of holding back. But Castiel doesn't want him to hold back. There's no reason to. They should share the afterglow.

That single errant thought of Dean staying is like a brick to the head. Sudden, terrifying clarity that would make Castiel gasp with the realization if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied. As it is, the rush of emotion forces a convulsive swallow, and Dean swears sharply as he yanks himself out just before spilling thick ropes of come over Castiel's chin and neck.

"Fuck!" Dean gasps explosively. His chest heaves with his effort to fight back control, shaking from head to toe, another small spurt of come leaking out as he strokes himself loosely through the aftershocks.

Castiel waits, staring up at him with owl-eyed wonder.

Dean's head is thrown back, neck muscles taut. His skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, entire being lit by the ambient glow of the hall light. He's beautiful. Every inch of him.

Slowly Dean starts to unclench. His body relaxes and he starts to chuckle softly, exhausted. "That was awesome," he says, collapsing onto his side.

Castiel nods mutely and offers out the packet of cleaning wipes that he keeps in his bedside table.

Dean graciously cleans them both, stars in his eyes seeing Castiel's face partially painted with his release. He cleans up every bit, kissing each spot of skin that he dirtied.

"Thank you," Castiel murmurs when he's finished, unconsciously reaching out to drag Dean against him. They don't do this often either, but Dean is good at going with the flow. He makes no comment as he settles into Castiel's arms to listen to the grandfather clock tick in the living room.

For once instead of the sound calming him, it makes Castiel profoundly lonely. His house is cavernously lonely. It's a bitter sort of joke for him to only realize as much when he's about to say goodbye to the vibrancy that's filled the cracks. An uncomplicated, "see you next week?" The upwards tone of the question keeping it casual. Reminding them both that this could be the last one. They haven't made any agreements. Either one could terminate the whole thing at any time, without warning. Simply by not answering a text. Or sending one.

Castiel had wanted that once upon a time. But he _needs_ something very different. He can't keep doing this to himself. Not when Dean's become so critical to him. The thought of never stroking through his coarse hair like he is now, kissing him freely, touching him gently or roughly, feeling the mechanic's calluses brushing all over his body... he can't do this anymore. He'd thought it was an addiction. It's not. It's a critical function. He needs all of Dean, including the parts he doesn't know, but desperately wants to.

"Cas, I gotta get up now," Dean says quietly. He shakes Castiel's shoulder as though he thinks he might be asleep.

He's not. He's just frozen with a horrible epiphany.

"Cas."

Castiel makes a wounded sound, starfishing across Dean's abdomen and legs.

"Dude, come on," Dean laughs sounding a little mystified at Castiel's out of character display. "It's two in the goddamn morning now. I've gotta get dressed and skedaddle before I fall asleep behind the wheel going home."

"No," Castiel answers, burrowing further against Dean's shoulder.

A hint of irritation seeps into Dean's voice, wiping away the remaining wisps of the afterglow. "Cas, seriously, man. I don't mind the midnight booty calls, but I'm tired now."

"I don't want you to go." He raises himself up onto one elbow. Props his chin in his hand. Stares down at Dean, when what he really wants to do is look anywhere else. He's afraid. But he's also already started talking. He might as well finish. "I want you to stay tonight."

Dean frowns up at him. "What the hell are you talking about all the sudden?" he asks. But he doesn't sound angry anymore. Just confused, and ready to be on his way so that he can sleep.

Swallowing, Castiel asks as nicely as he can, "Dean, will you please stay with me tonight?"

Dean reaches up towards Castiel's face, and then aborts the movement halfway. "Why? Cas, what's going on? Why the change of heart?"

"It's not enough anymore," Castiel answers, terrified. "Not for me."

Slowly, Dean raises up onto his elbows, brow furrowed. "How did I not do enough tonight?" he asks, confused.

Castiel smiles fondly at the misunderstanding and shakes his head. "Everything was beautiful tonight until you tried to get up and leave me."

"But... that's the deal," Dean says blankly. "That's what we've got going on here." He gestures between the both of them.

Finally, Castiel's gaze breaks away and he glances down to where his free hand is idly sketching nonsense drawings over Dean's abs. "Can we change the deal?"

Clearing his throat, Dean says, "you gotta tell me exactly what you want. I gotta have the details. Otherwise I won't know what's going on. You're kinda worrying me, like, a lot."

Yes. Details. Plans. Ideas. He's good at those. He's made a lot of money with those. Although... he's never built much of a life with those. What if he's terrible at it and can't explain properly? What if all of his negotiation skills don't produce his desired results? What if, despite everything, Dean says no? He's not sure he could pick himself back up after that. He already has so little energy when he's without Dean for more than a few days. This lack of relationship they've entered has meant everything to Castiel. And it has to be Dean.

It's his own damn fault he let them get here. He'd been foolish to assume that he could do something like this with a man such as Dean and not develop feelings beyond the mere physical. It's his fault. Inevitable or not, they've arrived at the crossroads.

"I can physically feel you freezing up on me," Dean's voice breaks through dryly. "Just get the words out. Stop overthinking." He pokes at Castiel's squint right between his eyebrows. "Whatever it is, I'll listen. It's better than bottling it up."

No, it's not. Not if the light is about to leave his life. "I'm not content with, as you so crudely put it, booty calls." The last thing that he wants is for Dean to doubt what he's saying, so Castiel looks him square in the eye as he continues. "I would really like for this to be more... real. Since knowing you, I've changed. Perhaps it's been gradual, but it's been there. And now I can't ignore it anymore. Am... am I making you uncomfortable?"

Dean sits up straighter. "Keep talking," he demands, lovely green eyes fierce.

Emboldened, Castiel rushes ahead, heart thumping with excitement and trepidation. "I like the mess you've brought to my life. You've never pushed me for more than I was willing to give. You never asked for anything at all. And maybe you don't feel the same way that I do, and that's..." he shrugs helplessly. Swallows. "That's okay." _It's not okay_. "It's just..." he clears his throat against the onslaught of humiliating tears, but he ignores the urge to stop. He has to be _clear_. Dragging it out won't buy him anything more than heartbreak. So he sighs, and finishes with a simple, "I'm in love you, Dean."

Dean lurches forward, kissing Castiel hard enough that it knocks him off balance. They collapse back into the sheets, Castiel clinging and Dean trembling. "You stupid son of a bitch," Dean mutters against Castiel's temple. "Why are you just saying all this now?"

Castiel holds tighter. "I couldn't think about it until now. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

Dean takes Castiel's face in his hands, thumbing away the tear tracks, kissing him again and again. He weighs them both down into the mattress, his warm body solid. "I'm staying," he says firmly between one touch of his lips and the next. "Tonight and any other night you call me over. I'll stay. Please don't kick me out anymore, Cas. I've always hated it. I've wanted to stay with you since the beginning."

"That can't be true," Castiel argues, arching his neck up for Dean to further his exploration.

He does briefly, then withdraws. There's no mistaking the honesty when he says, "I was thinking about it earlier, but I can't even remember why we started this in the first place. You thought I was a blue collar moron, and I thought you were a stuck up piece of shit."

"I always did well falling back on stereotypes," Castiel says, shame faced. "I apologize for that. My whole life has been predicated upon class separation. I never even thought about it until I met you."

"What happened?" Dean asks curiously. There's no hint of censure in his voice.

Castiel shrugs, bumping Dean's head a little bit in the process. "I couldn't understand why I shouldn't want you. I loved your eyes and your smile. I was jealous of how kindly you treated everyone, but then would glare at me. It didn't make sense. I suppose... I just snapped."

Chuckling, Dean says, "so, you overcame a lifetime of conditioning 'cause you were a sucker for a pretty face?"

"Who cares?" Castiel counters petulantly. "I did get over it, and now I'm telling you that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Dean strokes his hand over Castiel's shoulders. "It's always been you, Cas. You gotta know that's why I always come when you call. I've been in love with you for ages. And because of that, I was willing to take what I could get."

"You're too good for me," Castiel apologizes. "I should have told you how I felt a lot sooner."

"Did you even know?" Dean smirks.

"Minor detail," Castiel sniffs imperiously.

"The devil's in those, y'know."

"You're such an ass."

"Doesn't matter," Dean grins. "I'm still sleeping here tonight, and I'm still gonna make you breakfast in the morning."

Realization dawning, Castiel says, "I shouldn't go to work tomorrow. I should... I should stay, too. It's Saturday, after all. I should eat breakfast with you. I can't remember the last time that I ate breakfast at all. Not here." He laughs suddenly. "I haven't actually used the kitchen once, save for the coffee maker. But there are plenty of groceries. I always have them delivered because I foolishly keep thinking that one day I'll make the time to learn how to cook. This will be the first time they're being used instead of thrown away."

Dean kisses him again. "If you're set on being with me, you need to learn all about a real five day work week."

"I believe I can do that," Castiel says, the constriction in his chest starting to ease.

Dean flicks him on the nose. "And no more twenty hour days, or whatever the hell you think is appropriate on a normal day. It's not healthy, man."

The smile that follows the relaxation is beatific. "I'm unsure how my colleagues would react to all of that change so suddenly." He's teasing. He hopes that Dean knows he's teasing.

He must because he laughs. "Yeah, whatever. They'll think you've met someone like an actual human being and are ready for a real work/life balance."

"I like the sound of that," Castiel says honestly.

"Good," Dean answers, "because that's the deal from here on out. With me."

Castiel asks for the kiss this time. "Of course, Dean."


End file.
